I promised my heart, the scars itching would never be bothered. I thought maybe one l will forget the love lost in the jungle. Alone with my thoughts crumbling the number 4 ringing in my heard listening to that Cici song, time moving with me stuck in the number 4. Can l really say am happy seeing you happy without me? Standing again, there humiliated never regretting. Ghosts haunting the blind man who mistakenly saw the light. Before 5, the 4th was enough for you. Into the 5th, the 4th was the breaking point for me. It was in the moment l lost my sanity l might say but i actually lost my everything in that moment!
THE LITTLE MAN! Stamps outdate by the same old folktales that echo morality in the face of dawn. The crowded memories bedridden to sweet melodies banging in barren islands of smoldering tales twisting to the sound of morning, fangs of desparation slowly creeping towards a dear old pal. Application of reality is a song rhymed in a mind that clatters through windows phantoming towards temporaly misplaced opinions. The journey to tommorow is written on a daily basis as the favourate echoing of the memories that dawn time. In the jungle the laws differ, a veil is cast between self with the defination of self mostly aligning with first impressions as a clown reading a book without the cover. In the desert running like dunes thoughts fumble steps in the the blown whirlwind of time, slowly yet fading reality becomes the manifestation of ink cramped in plastic sweating arousal from paper blank with imaginations to fill. Stories are best intepreted with understanding which comes after knowledge...
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